Spellbound Trilogy: The Wind Casts No Shadow, Heart of the Jaguar, Shadows in the Mirror

by Jeanne Rose

Even if that meant losing her forever . . .

  "There was nothing fair or noble about the Apache Wars," he said. "We conquered band after band, then pitted one against the other."

  "Tell me."

  She had to know, but Sam couldn't help putting off detailing his confession for a while longer. Buying time – a few more minutes in which he could pretend that nothing stood between them – he said, "Maybe we should take a breather, give the horses a rest."

  They'd walked quite a ways and had come to a creek that ran just outside of town. Sam led Irish to the sandy bank, Louisa following with Defiant directly behind him. After watering their horses, they retired to a shady slope, a small cool spot sheltered by a cottonwood, where they tied up the animals before making themselves comfortable, Louisa sitting cross-legged, Sam reclining on one arm.

  Sam gazed at Louisa longingly. With her lightly bronzed skin, big dark eyes and black hair plaited over one shoulder, she was an incomparable beauty. Her face might have been lovingly chiseled by a sculptor's tool: high cheekbones, bold but feminine nose, stubborn jaw, full soft lips.

  Eyes glued to that provocative mouth that he would give anything to taste, Sam said, "I would give everything I have to start over, Louisa. Here. Now. In an ideal world where people lived at peace."

  "Where a man's only duty is to his own heart and his loved ones," she added. "Unfortunately, we don't live in an ideal world, but so what? There are good things, too, and we have to make the best of the cards that life deals us."

  She wanted to understand. To accept. Sam heard it in her voice, saw it in her softened features. At that moment, he loved her more than he ever had. At that moment, hope sparked his soul.

  Filled with a surfeit of emotion, he reached out to touch her cheek and found himself cradling her silky skin against his cupped hand.

  "Oh, Sam."

  His name whispered through her lips. Regret? A plea? He knew not which. His only surety was that he wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman, that he longed to feel her body pressed up against his own.

  As if reading his mind, as if longing for the same, she uncurled her body and reclined also.

  Taking that as an invitation, Sam couldn't help himself. He kissed her. Savored the sweet taste of the mouth he'd never forgotten. Louisa arched against him, her soft curves prompting an immediate response. He was hard and throbbing in an instant. Groaning, he adjusted his body, his hips moving against hers in an imitation of a more intimate act.

  He trailed his hand down her neck to the rise of one breast hidden beneath the vest. Even through the cotton of her shirt and the garment below, her nipple responded to his slightest touch. The sensitive flesh pebbled and lengthened and she moaned, the sound a small explosion.

  Sam plunged his tongue boldly into her mouth and was met with equal fervor on her part. Shyly, Louisa explored him as he did her. Fingers trailed down his chest to his stomach and below. She traced his length which grew at her light touch.

  Oh, how he wanted Louisa...but he couldn't take what she was obviously willing to give...not with him still straddling the truth.

  When he drew away, she looked confused for a moment, then focused on his face and again demanded, "Tell me, Sam. Let me share whatever is tormenting you."

  And Sam recalled one of the worst episodes in his memory, the bloody one-sided siege that had made him question his own integrity and worth as a human being for his participation. He let go of Louisa and rolled away, knowing he could put off telling her no longer.

  "A couple of years back, we were searching for an Apache base and refuge in an Arizona canyon with some White Mountain Apaches," he began.

  "They acted as scouts?"

  He nodded. Apaches were notorious for turning against their own kind – each band being separate and competitive, sometimes enemies – if the rewards were great enough. Staring at him attentively, Louisa continued to sit so close it was all Sam could do to keep his hands off her. When he was done, she might never want him to touch her again.

  "The canyon was twelve hundred feet deep and the band was holed up in a cave reachable only from above."

  He could see the setting as if the incident had happened mere days ago rather than years. Stark. Arid. Hotter than hell. Awesome that human beings could survive in such an environment.

  "A natural parapet of stone at the cave's mouth made the interior nearly impregnable."

  "Then how did you get in?" she asked.

  "We never did...until after..." Though sunlight dappled the ground around them where it sneaked through the leaves of the cottonwood, in his mind, Sam was once more bathed in an eerie moonlight. "We wore moccasins stuffed with hay to reach the chasm's edge without being heard. We waited from midnight until dawn, when we fired on the unwary Chiricahua. A few of their warriors fell dead, but the others refused to surrender."

  Others being mostly women and children and old people. At the time, he'd tried to tell himself that their warring on any but the braves wasn't dishonorable, that the Apache were their enemy – that there were no innocents, that any one of the band would carve him up if given the chance.

  But even then he'd known better.

  "By 'we,' do you mean you personally?"

  "Did I pull a trigger? No, not this time. As an officer, I gave commands..."

  "What did you do next?" Louisa asked, her voice soft, even sympathetic, rather than harsh and accusing as he might have expected. "Starve them out?"

  "We kept shooting. The roof sloped downward toward the rear of the cave, so lead ricocheted from wall-to-wall wounding more Apaches."

  "But they still refused to surrender," Louisa guessed.

  He nodded. Now to the hard part.

  "On the mesa directly above, the ground was strewn with boulders as big as cannonballs. Soldiers maneuvered them to the edge and, on signal at daybreak, tipped them over into the opening. A mass of stone rolled down into the cave, setting up a cloud of dust big enough to choke us all."

  "My God, how horrible!"

  She didn't know the half of it. She hadn't heard the high-pitched shrieks of the women, the pitiful mewling cries of children.

  Sam's gut churned with the memory.

  "When the dust cleared, we entered the cave unregister. There were bodies everywhere...most crushed beyond recognition. Even tiny bodies." His eyes burned and he steeled himself not to let Louisa see his weakness. "Babies." He almost choked on the word. "Dozens of people were killed and only a handful of wounded taken captive so they could be marched onto a reservation where their spirits would die while their bodies continued to go on."

  Sam chanced a glance at Louisa. Her face was as pale as he'd ever seen it. Her eyes were filled with disbelief and pain. Not the same pain he felt on the telling of the story, certainly, for she hadn't been there. But the pain of being part of a people who were hunted down and confined like wild animals to small pieces of mostly useless land because they didn't live as the white man did.

  And because they had what the white man and his government wanted.

  "I-I didn't know . . ."

  Realizing Louisa was as well and truly horrified as he'd feared she would be, Sam took his cue and jumped to his feet, glad to have an excuse to avoid telling her the rest. To avoid the worst of his nightmares. She sat staring at the ground as if in shock while he approached Irish. Not a word passed her lips. Not a murmur of forbearance. Sick at heart, but realistic if nothing else, Sam patted the chestnut's neck one last time before removing the saddlebags and a canteen.

  "So now you know exactly who I am --"

  Her eyes, strangely distant, met his as she interrupted. "Do I?"

  "– and why I'm not the man for you."

  With that, he turned and strode toward town, ignoring her, "Sam, wait!"

  If he waited, he would be obliged to tell her the rest, and what good would it do? She was already revolted, and she hadn't heard the worst of his secrets. Besides, the blood would remain on his hands always.

  Ev
en the forgiveness he hoped for from Louisa wouldn't cleanse him from his self-imposed guilt.

  FEELING GUILTY that she hadn't given Sam what he needed after practically forcing a confession from him, Louisa warred with herself over whether or not to follow. With him on foot and her on horseback, she could catch up to him quickly enough. But she figured he needed time alone after spilling his guts and sharing his terrible memories.

  Rather the ones he had shared, for Louisa sensed there had been something more, something so terrible he'd feared it would devastate her.

  She was devastated now.

  Devastated that human beings could be so inhumane to others because they were different. Devastated that a good man like Sam had gotten caught up in something so horrible he could barely speak of it, an act that had gone against the very grain of his basic nature. Devastated that he had followed orders out of some stupid sense of duty.

  Or rather had given them, passing on killing orders from his superiors.

  For he'd been an officer. Hadn't fired his weapon. Not then, he'd said. So when had he? And what did it matter, anyway? When wasn't important. Whether or not he'd actually pulled the trigger or pushed a rock onto unsuspecting victims was of little consequence. He'd participated in a heinous act.

  And for that, guilt shadowed him and wrapped around his lonely heart.

  He'd wanted her understanding. Her forgiveness. Still appalled by the images he'd conjured for her, Louisa wasn't certain she could give it.

  Her own heart heavy, she collected the horses and started back for town, riding Defiant and leading Irish.

  Violence was common in the West – she'd come to accept that at a tender age. But deep down, in the inner reaches of her soul, she didn't understand why any more than she understood certain people hating her because her skin was a shade too bronzed, exposing the liaison between her parents that prejudice forbade.

  The past had given her reason to be sensitive about the issue and Sam knew that.

  Approaching the edge of town, Louisa decided to check the house instead of going to the Blue Sky, even though she was running so late her mother might have given up on her and gone to oversee the business. Between her stop at the pueblo and her tryst with Sam, she'd lost nearly two hours. It was well past time for the noon meal she and Ma had planned to share.

  The neat little house built partially of weathered logs and partially of adobe hadn't changed much since she'd moved out of her attic quarters and onto the de Arguello spread. The cottonwoods had gotten a bit bigger and the fenced-in meadow was empty now but for the two grays that pulled Ma's buggy, but the rest was comfortingly the same.

  As was Ma herself.

  No sooner had Louisa dismounted, than Belle Janks stepped through the front door, a vision in satin turquoise that set off her bright red ringlets. "There you are, honey. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

  "I said I'd be here, didn't I?" Louisa asked, not meaning to, but knowing she sounded defensive. She began to tie up the horses at a hitching rail a few yards from the front steps. "When did I ever break a promise?"

  Her mother's brows shot up and her rouged lips puckered. "Oh, I can remember a time or two."

  Certain Ma meant her having given her word to behave in the various big city schools she'd been sent to, Louisa groaned. "Years ago, and only because I didn't want to leave you in the first place." Finished with the horses, she bounded up the front steps.

  "That's it, butter me up." Belle enveloped her daughter in a big loving hug, her habitual, liberally applied flowery scent nearly overpowering Louisa. "So, how come you got two horses -- and both saddled? You didn't think I'd be wanting to ride, I hope."

  "Nah, don't worry, Ma, I know better than to try to change you." Belle thought the only acquaintance ladies should have with horses was from the distant end of buggy reins. Realizing her mother was continuing to give her a questioning look, she said, "It's a long story."

  "I got loasa time."

  "Later. Maybe."

  Belle shrugged and led the way inside where Elena was just putting food on the scarred pine table fancied up with colorful flowers.

  "You waited for me."

  "'Course I did. How often do I get a chance to have a meal with my girl?"

  Eating the housekeeper's home cooking made Louisa feel a bit better inside, maybe because it brought back memories of her childhood when Ma and Elena both had been overprotective and responsible for all the worrying. Of course, now she was a grown-up, too. And the black bean soup and chicken and cheese enchilladas were gone all too soon, leaving Ma staring at her with a familiar concern.

  "So tell me about the chestnut," she demanded. "I assume you didn't rob no one to get it."

  Resigned that her mother meant to get the story out of her one way or the other, Louisa said, "I won it. From a man named Sam Strong."

  Belle sighed. "Damn! Shoulda known. I heard he was back in town."

  From Frances, no doubt. "I wasn't sure you ever knew who he was."

  "Not know the no-account bastard who broke my baby's heart?"

  "He didn't break my heart!" Louisa nearly shouted, then under her mother's knowing expression, backed down. "So he crushed it a little, but I survived."

  "Barely."

  "What's that mean?"

  "Something in you changed after he left town, Louisa, honey. You treat men like you don't want to care nothing for 'em. And you take too many chances, like you don't want to care nothing for yourself, either. You had me worried for longer'n I can remember."

  Refusing to take offense, Louisa insisted, "You like to worry, Ma. It's part of your nature."

  "I'm a mother. You wait until you have little ones. If you ever do..."

  Louisa knew that was an invitation, that her mother hoped she would open up and reveal the secrets of her heart. And for once, she considered doing so. She was tired of hiding her emotions, pretending that everything was all right when it wasn't. Her mother had gone through some terrible times herself and might have some answers.

  "Sam says he loves me, Ma, that he always meant to come back for me."

  "Then what stopped him?"

  "The Army. Or his supposed duty to it."

  "Duty's a powerful notion. Some men don't feel like nothing without it."

  "And men can be corrupted by it, too."

  "Sounds serious."

  Louisa took a deep breath and said, "Sam was involved in some terrible things...having to do with the Indian wars. With innocent people -- women and children – dying."

  "And that bothers you?"

  "You have to ask? Wouldn't it you?"

  Belle sighed. "I've seen too much of the world to be shocked, Louisa. And I've been too protective of you. War is a way of life and always has been through the centuries, across all continents."

  "But there are usually better reasons for war than –"

  "No matter what noble notions a government declares about its going to war," her Ma interrupted, "the reality always comes back to one thing – greed of some kind. That don't mean most young men don't believe they're fighting for some higher purpose. They gotta believe that to live with themselves. During the Civil War, I met brothers who fought against brothers. And fathers who fought against their sons. I can't rightly think of anything worse'n that."

  "But the massacre Sam described was so awful."

  "Death is a terrible thing, Louisa, but it ain't ever gonna go away. The reasons'll be different, but the call to duty'll be the same. Sounds like your Sam's not too happy about what happened."

  "He's not my Sam...and I don't think he can rid himself of their ghosts."

  "Then he has a conscience. And a heart. Can't hardly ask more than that of a man."

  Thinking about the way he'd deserted her, fearing that he might desert her again at the first sign of trouble, she firmly stated, "I can demand a lot more."

  "And you can be alone for the rest of your life, too."

  "Are you saying –"

  "
I'm saying you shouldn't ruin your life 'cause you can't find it in your heart to forgive human weakness or a man following his call to duty. It's up to you, Louisa, but I hope you try to see his side of things. And I hope you don't put nothing special on those people who died just because your Pa was Comanche. Don't find a way to cheat yourself of happiness any more than you have."

  "That's not what I'm doing."

  "Do you love him?"

  "Six years ago, I thought –"

  "Now. Do you love him now?"

  Louisa sighed and faced the truth. "Yes, Ma, I do love him." She hadn't wanted to admit it, not even to herself, but she was more in love with him now than she had been six years before, if that were possible.

  "Then why are you here with me instead of going after him?"

  "I can't do that!"

  "Why not? He came after you, didn't he? Why else did he come back to Santa Fe?"

  Why else, indeed. For once, Louisa couldn't argue with her mother. And she was glad they had talked. Though it didn't sit well with her still, she had a somewhat different, more practical perspective on what Sam had told her. Ma was right that she shouldn't identify with those people because they'd been Apache. Hadn't she told Sam she wouldn't be more bothered by his killing Indians than his killing whites?

  It was the killing itself that bothered her, the idea of an ever-present war somewhere, a useless loss of lives.

  According to Ma, that would never end.

  Louisa feared that, too, Belle Janks was correct.

  West Texas

  WHILE BARELY A WEEK before, Monte Ryerson had been plagued by worry about the lost lives of a half-dozen men he didn't know, now the possibility of lost cattle hit even closer to home and commanded his full attention.

  "Old Man Hinkley said he came up short more'n two dozen head," his son Stephen was telling him as Monte finished patching up a cow who'd gotten herself tangled in some sawtooth barbed wire.

  "How long ago?"

  "Wasn't sure. Tracks were old. He figures a week, maybe more." Stephen made a disgusted sound. "What was strange, though, was that the rustlers killed a bull right on the spot. Cut the animal's heart clean out."